The Art of Holding On and Letting Go by Kristin Lenz Page B

My favorites were the five baby angels. One sat in a baby carriage, another in a bubble bath, and three more in cradles. I pulled out the one in a bubble bath and ran a finger over the iridescent bubbles.
    I had never thought to ask her why she started collecting all of these figurines. The cookie scent grew stronger, and I returned the angel to the cabinet and followed my gurgling stomach to the kitchen.
    Grandpa was helping himself to a cookie right off the pan. “Ooh, ah, hot, hot.” He pulled the cookie apart and a drop of chocolate plopped onto his shirt.
    Grandma huffed. “You couldn’t wait just one minute for them to cool off?”
    â€œOops.” Grandpa grinned at me and tried to lick the chocolate off his shirt.
    Grandma huffed even louder, but I couldn’t help laughing.
    â€œDo you have a lot of homework today?” Grandpa asked me.
    I shook my head. Of course I had a lot of homework, but I had no plans of actually doing it. Agatha Christie was calling my name. I helped myself to a cookie.
    â€œGood. I thought we could go for a little drive and check out the rock climbing gym.”
    I paused with the cookie half in my mouth, the chocolate burning my tongue. Grandma poured milk into a glass, but she paused too, raising her eyes to Grandpa.
    â€œI figured you must be missing climbing after all these weeks,” he said.
    I swallowed the bite of cookie, scorching my throat. Grandma pushed the glass of cold milk toward me, and I chugged.
    â€œDid my mom tell you to do that?”
    â€œNo, there was a flyer at the library. There’s even an after-school club that meets there.”
    I almost snorted, but I knew Grandpa was only trying to help. An after-school club,
right
.
    â€œI don’t think that’s a good idea—” Grandma pointed a spatula at Grandpa.
    â€œDon’t worry, Margaret. We’ll be careful,” he said.
    â€œYou want to try climbing too?” I asked him. He was old, but he was pretty spry.
    â€œHa! I can hardly move my arm from the darn flu shot I got yesterday.”
    â€œNice excuse,” I said.
    â€œWe should probably get you one too.”
    I shook my head and rubbed my arm. “Ugh, no way. I never get sick.”
    Grandma pointed the spatula at me and looked like she was about to lecture, but Grandpa was already grabbing his wallet and keys. “Let’s go!”

15
    We headed out to Grandpa’s vintage car. I really could care less about cars, but his Mustang was pretty sharp. He had taught my mom how to drive on it, and it was still in great shape. I could picture my mom and dad on a date, cruising around town before I was born. But that would have never happened because I was born two years after they met down south. And my mom never came back to Detroit to live. Just a quick trip to pack up some of her belongings. She was a girl in the mountains from then on.
    It turned out that Pontiac was only about a ten-minute drive from Bloomfield. Nick was right. There was rock climbing right in my own backyard. The plastic kind. I had been to climbing gyms all over the country for competitions, but never Planet Granite.
    My stomach convulsed as we walked up to the industrial-looking building. Why was I so nervous? I wasn’t going to climb. I purposefully hadn’t even brought my gear. Grandpa walked his grandpa pace, and I slowed down to match his stride.
    I paused just inside the gym. The guy behind the check-in counter gave the other employee a shove. Subtle.
    â€œHey, you here to climb?” he asked.
    â€œMaybe. I’m not sure yet.”
    The guy stared at me for a second, then asked, “Aren’t you Cara Jenkins?”
    Was this my stalker? “You go to Bloomfield High?” I asked.
    The guy smirked. “Uh, no. I graduated two years ago.”
    And then I noticed the rack of climbing magazines, just like Nick had said.
Everyone who climbs there knows who you are.
    â€œYou’re